


Untitled Sherstrade

by Buttsuoka_Rin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, PWP, Porny fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttsuoka_Rin/pseuds/Buttsuoka_Rin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Greg, please..." He didn't have to finish the sentence. Lestrade nodded against his soulder and straightened up a bit. His hands slid around to the backs of Sherlock's sweat-dampened knees and hitched them up towards his chest, giving him more leverage to fuck Sherlock deeper.</i>
</p>
<p>Sherlock and Lestrade having slow, sweet sex. Written because today is Sherstrade day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Sherstrade

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm supposed to be working on Swimming Pools and Rugby Balls, but honestly I just can't find the inspiration. And because today is apparantly Sherstrade day (YAY), I decided to write a short and quick piece. I myself am an avid (ecstatic) Sherstrade shipper myself.
> 
> So yeah. Enjoy. All mistakes are due to my lack of sleep and general carelessness. I also apologise for this porn. Seriously.

"Yes, yes, like that... _Oh_." Sherlock trembled under Lestrade and threw his head back against the sheets. His full, kiss-darkened lips were parted, cheeks flushed as a breathy moan escaped him. 

"Alright, love?" Lestrade canted his hips back when Sherlock nodded, then hit home again with a roll of his hips. God, he loved this, the ability to make Sherlock lose is senses under him and loosen up a bit. It had been weeks since they'd last had sex, partly due to a case that led them to Berlin and back, and then the lead-up to John's wedding - that's where they finally got the chance to unwind. It had been busy for the both of them and they'd barely had a minute to breath let alone have sex. 

In fact, to make the most of their night, Lestrade had taken his sweet time with foreplay and undressing his lover from his pristine navy and white suit. John and Mary, after the first dances and cake-cutting, had disappeared with their respective families to take photos and whatnot. It took only one look between them for Sherlock to take Lestrade's hand and yank him up the stairs to their hotel room; there was plenty of time to frolic with the other guests later on.

And that's how Sherlock found himself being made sweet love to by Lestrade on the cool satin bedsheets. Surprisingly, it wasn't fast or rough or hasty after the weeks apart; it was slow and gentle and full of passion. Lestrade's hands roamed up the sides of his younger partner's body, one slipping under his back to hoist him a bit closer, and the other planted on his hip to keep him from slipping away. He moaned and dropped his head to Sherlock's shoulder as he thrust in again, his breathing coming out a little bit raggedly.

One of Sherlock's hands found its way to Lestrade's hair, fingers running slowly through the short hair. Sherlock _loved_ Lestrade's hair (though he'd never admit that out loud) and he especially loved the feeling of the little strands against his fingertips. 

"Greg, please..." He didn't have to finish the sentence. Lestrade nodded against his soulder and straightened up a bit. His hands slid around to the backs of Sherlock's sweat-dampened knees and hitched them up towards his chest, giving him more leverage to fuck Sherlock deeper. His pace picked up just a little bit but he was careful not to be too rough.

"God I've missed you, Sherlock," _thrust,_ "Missed this." And he had. Most of the time their sex was fast and rushed, usually in the wee hours of the morning in Lestrade's flat after a case. Sherlock hadn't officially moved in with him yet. But this was different. When they took their time, when they _made love_ (Sherlock loathed the term even though he knew it was true) slowly and sweetly, it was usually the best.

Sherlock responded with a low and guttural moan. He could feel heat coiling low in his stomach, little pulses of pleasure that spread out to his fingertips and toes. Lestrade took Sherlock's left hand and pinned it next to his head, their fingers entwining. They've been together for seven years and he still loved the feeling of Sherlock's long and elegant fingers, the feeling of his calloused violin player's fingertips rubbing against his own roughened palm. In fact, with every passing day, he loved Sherlock even more.

Sherlock arched up and had to bite back a cry. Lestrade was pushing against his prostate with every thrust, each one harder than the next. It made his toes curl and his breathing hitch in his throat.

"G- _Greg,_ can't last-" He was cut off by his lover's lips pressing against his own, muffling whatever incoherent noises were now coming from the detective. Digging his fingers into Sherlock's hip for a better grip, Lestrade thrust into him with a grunt, murmuring sweet nothings into his mouth. When Sherlock started to whimper and gasp, Lestrade knew he was close. 

He released Sherlock's hand and took hold of his flushed cock. The tip was smeared with pre-cum, so Lestrade used that to slick him up. He then moved his hand slowly and tightly up and down, feeling Sherlock slowly come apart beneath him. He was close too, so very close, but he wanted - no, _needed_ \- to feel Sherlock, feel him clamp down around him. 

It didn't take long. In just a few more thrusts and strokes, Sherlock was cumming, thrwoing his head back with a cry of Lestrade's name. Well, his name mixed with an incoherent sentence that may have been in French. Lestrade stroked him through it, snapping his hips forward and then burying himself up to the hilt as he came. His head dropped once again to Sherlock's shoulder and the younger man's legs flopped down to either side. They were sweaty and panting, a messy tangle of limbs on the bed.

"...Do you think they noticed our disappearance?" Sherlock asked once his heartrate slowed down a bit.

"Nah. We're not needed anyway. John'd understand." Peeling himself off his lover, Lestrade rolled to the side and lay on his back. "C'mere, we're not moving for the next twenty minutes."

"Mm, good." Sherlock shifted closer and draped a leg over Lestrade's hip. The DI's arm slid around his shoulders and teased the more fuzzy of Sherlock's ringlets at the nape of his neck. "I do love you, you know."

Lestrade laughed, pulling Sherlock closer. "I know you do, mad git. I love you too."


End file.
